SINNING IN ALASKA

Contrary to what its resounding name is suggesting, Nikolaevsk is just a small village in Alaska. Inhabited by Russian Starovery, or Old Believers

SINNING IN ALASKA

Over the years, I have done a lot of captivating reading — instead of writing which is supposed to be my priority, given my professional skills — about the Old Believers, or Starovery, who are a sizeable community of schizmatics of the Russian Orthodox Church, living in exile throughout the world. Starovery are a peculiar bunch of people: they don't eat out dreading the «dirty» plates and cutlery in public places, they don't watch TV which they see as a source of awful sins, they don't socialize, they avoid outsiders and they reject civilization. So I developed an urge to go one day and have a look at what they really are.

We had agreed on the phone that Ivan, one of the local Old Believers, will come to pick us up at the airport. But he was not there when we arrived. Maybe, after all, he had had second thoughts about the risk of exposing himself to such great sinners as us. Just in case, we called his wife. She told us that Ivan had in fact left long ago to go «there».

— You mean where?

— Well, there, to meet you.

We keep forgetting that life in province is slow and easy, nothing like the mad rush in Moscow! Plus minus one hour is certainly no big deal here... On the bright side of things, our flight arrived late, so we did not have to die from boredom waiting for Ivan. Who eventually did show up, loaded us into his rolling equipment and set off for Nikolaevsk.

On the road, Ivan joined the conversation. We learnt that he was born «up there in China» and that he had never been to Russia, even though he commanded perfect Russian without a trace of an accent — as all Starovery do, by the way. The funny thing is, there was indeed something Chinese in Ivan's looks, or rather something like... Ho Chi Minh, who was a pure bred Vietnamese. This unfortunate similarity was probably due to Ivan's — and Ho's — memorable thin moustache and beard.

— Where we lived, 't was next to Harbin. Close to the mongolian side of the country. So we got uncles and brothers there in... wait... Khabarovsk, yeah, that's the name of the place. We all went our different ways, after the revolution.

Life had not been easy for Ivan and the others. But they had certainly had their share of adventures. From China, their whole village moved to Brazil, then to Italy where they stayed for a while. They took off from there all at once and landed in Oregon, on the Pacific coast of America, and then finally ended up in Alaska. But soon, they will have to move on again. The place is becoming too crowded; civilization catches up, and does not allow them to live as they were taught. This I have noticed already: the car we were in had a nice built-in CD player and quite a few CDs around with records of music.

— Must be a sin to listen to the CDs, huh?

— That's not mine, that's my son's car, said Ivan in a sad whisper. Sure it's a sin. Sin's everywhere...

— Like when you drive a car, too?

— Yeah.

— Then why do you do it?

— Gotta any bette' idea?

— Use a horse. Hop-hop, off you go...

— Will take ages, with an 'orse, if I 'ave to pick ya up at t'is air-thin' of yours...

— How about your kids, my friend? Do they stick to the true faith, or do they flee to towns?

They do flee. A source of big grief for Ivan... And kids they have plenty, some eight to fifteen souls per family. That's because they ignore birth control, a sin too! Ivan, 46, has already nine kids, and is nowhere near the end of this fine procreational exercise.

So grown up kids do leave for big towns and «lower» states. Not all of them, but quite a few still. I think I understand them. Those who haven't yet left are in sin up to their ears, the bastards: they watch TV, listen to all these musics... That's why Old Believers plan to take off again soon, to nest in some new wild country. Some communities have already left for Bolivia.

— Why Bolivia, my friend?

— They still give you land there, for free. If you work on it. Get the point?

Old Believers always look for refuge in places on the planet where they can live off agriculture. Alaska, where fruits and vegetables don't grow easily, is the only exception to their rule.

— In this here, you can 'ave potatoes, cabbage and carrots, and that's it. Nothin' else, not even corn.

As he speaks, Ivan enjoys a relaxed drive, helped by power steering and US made automatic gearbox which do all the hard work for him.

Anyway, because in this here you can 'ave potatoes and nothin' else, Old Believers made a living fishing, until competition from big ships put an end to it. Soon after, they were back in business building up motor boats! They make a nice profit selling them to Americans.

In real tough times, they can ask for help from government. If, say, somebody has a nasty accident and needs a costly treatment for which he cannot pay. In cases like this, Old Believers might compromise and even accept blood transfusions. It is nonetheless a sin, though, no doubt about it.

The villagers obviously belong to the talkative part of American citizens. As I was just emerging from the car, I was introduced to Alla Mametieva, an old lady all too eager to tell me her story. She had come to live with her brothers and sisters in faith a few years ago, married an old local guy and settled down with him. He turned out to be a very nice guy indeed, but his sons, all grown ups living in towns, did not like Alla nor the fact that their old man had married a newcomer from Russia who was going to inherit all their dad's valuables. They saw to it that the old man gets enough drinks to lose his senses, made him sell his house and kept the money. So now the abandoned couple lives in a rented place. Alla's man also had had a daughter, a kind woman, but the son in law — a heavy drinker — killed her during one of his orgies.

I know what was so Russian about Nikolaevsk. It was the spirit of the place...

Alla's man has a pension, 1 200 dollars per month, of which 400 dollars pay the rent. Since there isn't much left after they have paid the bills and the groceries, old Alla has found a job to make some extra bucks.

— What kind of a job?

— Babysitting.

— Does it pay well?

— One dollar for one hour. It's so cheap because I don't have American citizenship yet. Big American families receive bonuses from the state government so they can have a babysitter. That's how I got my job. My brother back in Russia, a big fool, sends me letters and says you, American bitch, you've got everything there, while we are all miserable and wait to die here. Does he think dollars are growing on trees?.. When my old man goes, what do I do? But I'll stay, I won't go back...

What else is there of interest in the lives of these wonderful Russian provincials who, by some curious twist of fate, find themselves being in America. Oh yes, Nina Konstantinovna, the dynamic lady who cornered us on top of a hill while my colleagues were taking pictures of Nikolaevsk down below.

She's not only an Old Believer, she is also a business woman. She runs a shop selling Russian souvenirs, and teaches Russian at the local school, using selfmade teaching material: she takes books for children which are on sale in her shop and reads them, actress-like, while recording on tape. These tapes also become souvenirs and are put on sale in the same shop.

Despite an obvious lack of profits, Nina Konstantinovna sends regularly quite a few dollars to Starovery in Russia, to help them build churches. She says: «I'm not going to treat myself to crab meat while they are hungry over there and can't afford to build a church».

We were leaving all these kind Russians with lots of sympathy. One Old Believer gave me for the road a couple of huge scary looking loaves of bread he had baked. Back in my room at the Hilton hotel in Anchorage, where I left them on display on a table, I was laughing to myself trying to guess what the staff may have thought: that these uncivilized Russians bake their bread in the bathroom to have a few bites before sleep? Or they might have marvelled at the unpredictable variety and diversity of consumer goods manufactured in their great country of America, given the ugliness of these products of the baking industry...

Alexander NIKONOV